"I believe he's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. If it were but the question of his reason for marrying her, the solution would have been simple. He knew what he knew. Above her head was an aura of white fire. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify.
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